


Drunken Bets

by TheseusInTheMaze



Category: Youtube RPF, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Alcohol, D/s elements, Multi, Punishment, Self Insert, Spanking, drunk, dub-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2018-07-12 20:22:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7121248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheseusInTheMaze/pseuds/TheseusInTheMaze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Don't make best while drunk. You might regret them later.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drunken Bets

**Author's Note:**

> This fic contains drunk sexual stuff - namely spanking. It's in a relationship with a dynamic that allows that, but I don't know if I expressed that properly. I hope you enjoy it, & thank you!

“Betcha I can make you cum without touching you.” You point rather unsteadily at Mark, giggling like a fool.

“Really?” Mark raises an eyebrow, looking at you over the rims of his glasses. He's... well, he doesn't look _unhappy_ , per se, but he isn't as thrilled as he could be. While he's okay with you drinking, you know he gets a bit annoyed when you're at this giggly stage. “What makes you think you could do that?” 

“'cause...” You sit up, swaying slightly, “I”m good at that kinda shit.” You squint at him, grinning foolishly. He's just so pretty. You're so lucky. You giggle some more. 

“The last time you tried to have with me while you were in this state, you fell face first into my crotch and started to snore.” He winces at the memory. 

“'m better this time, promise,” you slur, standing up awkwardly and making your way to the big armchair that Mark is sprawled out on. 

“If you bruise my dick again you are in so much trouble,” he says, not even bothering to turn on his Top/Dom/Daddy/whatever title you're in the mood for (fucked if you know right now) voice. He lets you settle in his lap though, wrapping an arm around your middle and pulling you closer, so that you're not balancing precariously like a gargoyle. 

“Yeah, yeah,” you say, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, your hands on the back of his head. You kiss him clumsily, your nose bumping against his glasses. He makes a mildly annoyed noise, but doesn't stop kissing you. Your fingers stroke against the nape of his neck, and you can feel him shivering under you – that's always been a sensitive spot for him.

Mark breaks the kiss, blinking at you dozily. “You taste like vodka,” he says accusingly, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. He's still grinning. 

“Well, I'm sorry that my mouth is unsatisfactory,” you say huffily, shifting in his lap to get more access to his neck and ears. It's pretty simple to slide your tongue along the edge of his ear, take the lobe in your mouth and suck on it. Easy to leave hickies along his neck as well, nice dark ones that will standout. Usually you try not to leave too many marks, but fuck it. It's too much fun. Not having inhibitions is exciting. 

“C-careful,” he moans, pulling you closer still. He's pressing sloppy kisses along your hairline, stroking up and down your back with the very tips of his fingers. You can feel it through your thin shirt, and it makes you shake, the world going even fuzzier around the edges. 

“Mhm,” you mumble, biting him at that delicious spot where the neck meets the shoulder. You suck, hard, as your mouth fills up with the familiar copper taste. 

Mark jerks against you, moaning himself, his eyes squeezing shut. He's grinding against you now, awkwardly, his hands grasping at your sides, your hips. He whimpers like he's scared, and you moan at that, biting him again on the other side of his neck. 

Mark pulls you away from him, blinking up at you. “You're not leaving marks, are you?” He raises an eyebrow at you.

“... maybe,” you mumble, pressing your face into the side of his neck. You kiss along his jaw, your tongue darting out to taste the salt of his skin. It's rough under your tongue. 

“Fuck, you know how much of a pain that is,” Mark grumbles, but he's stroking across the top of your head. Maybe he's taking pity on you for being drunk. That's a nice thought. You're still giddy, with the booze, the scent of his skin. You're back at his neck, his pulse pounding under the tip of your tongue. 

“Mhm,” you mumble, your hands roaming across his body. You press against his nipples with your thumbs, digging your nails into his sides. You love the way he arches against you, his head lolling back, and you go back to nibbling and kissing at his neck, occasionally switching to his jaw or his cheek. 

“Aren't you supposed to be... to be making me c-cum without touching me?” His hands are on your hips, pressing you closer. 

“We're getting there,” you mumble, then pause, pulling back. You reach between his legs and find his erection hard and hot through his jeans. 

“Th-that's cheating,” Mark mumbles, but he thrusts into your hand, moaning in the back of his throat. 

“F-fine,” you mumble, and grope along the end table, nearly knocking over your glass. Your phone takes a few minutes to figure out, and Mark watches you, confusedly. Triumphantly, you dig up his phone as well, shoving it into a pocket, right by where the head of his cock is. 

“What are you doing?” He's not exactly drunk, but he seems to be giddy with tiredness and arousal. It's endearing as all hell. 

“I'm moving,” you say, shifting over so that you're sitting on the arm of the chair. You fumble a bit, then find what you're looking for. 

Mark yelps when his phone starts to buzz, practically rocketing out of the chair. He groans, going boneless as it continues to buzz, the vibrations no doubt driving him wild. He moans harder this time, as the phone starts to buzz in a staccato bursts. Then he groans, hard, and you stare at his face raptly, because you can tell he's cumming. You don't even need to see the growing stain in his pants, because his face is in rapture. 

You end the call, smirking. “I win,” you tell him, your eyes finally going between his legs. Yep, there's a damp stain right there. It looks slimy and cold. It probably feels gross against his leg. You cackle, quite pleased with yourself. You cackle harder as Mark fishes his (slightly fishy) phone out of his pocket, placing it on the end table.

“Right,” Mark says, and he grabs you around the waist, pulling you down onto his lap (and you nearly kick over a lamp in the process, your legs flailing wildly). “You're in trouble.” His voice is the deep, annoyed voice that comes up when he's in a mood like this. This is his Big Mean Dom voice. It doesn't come out that often. 

“Can I safeword?” You wriggle on his lap. The wet spot is pressed into your stomach, chilling your skin where your shirt has ridden up.

“If you do, I'll make you write lines,” he says, and he's got his arm across your back, holding you down and in place. “and take away your phone for three days.” 

“But...” You're not sure which title to use, and just settle on letting the whine creep into your voice. “I need my phone!” 

Mark is rubbing your ass, which can't be too comfortable, considering you're wearing denim, and that can friction up something fierce. “If you're gonna be using it like that, you obviously aren't responsible enough for it.” He lands a slap on your ass, hard, and his knees shift under you. 

“I won't do it again,” you promise. It's hard to keep your balance on his legs, especially when the whole room is spinning the way it is. You clutch the arm of the chair and squeeze your eyes shut, taking it all in. You're pretty drunk. You're drunk and you're horny, and you know Mark can tell. He can always tell, especially when you're pressed up against him like this. 

“I'm just insuring that,” he tells you, and he hits you again, harder. This one is harder to tell – you're at least halfway paying attention, and the pain radiates out of your ass, towards your legs, and between them. You squirm, almost humping his leg and trying to get away from the pain, but he digs his elbow into the middle of your back. “Nope. Behave.”

“I am,” you mumble, trying to stay still. Gods, if he'd just... reach down, touch you there, you think you'd explode. Booze makes you horny, and that voice of his... that really does it. 

“No, you're not.” He momentarily moves his elbow from the middle of your back, sliding his thumbs under your waistband. He unceremoniously yanks down the back of your jeans and underwear, revealing the bits of you that never sees much sun. “You've been a brat all evening. I never should have said yes to you drinking.” He begins to rain harder slaps on your ass, and you sob, gasping. Fuck. That hurts. That really hurts. It hurts enough that you can feel actual tears dripping down your face, onto the rug. The weight of his upper body pressing against your back hurts, but in a comforting way.

“If you're going to get obnoxious when you drink, you don't get to drink,” Mark tells you, punctuating each word with a slap. “and if you're going to make a bet, you hold to that bet. You don't cheat.” He shifts his leg, grinding it right against the spot that it's the most wanted, and you gasp, humping against his leg. “Do you understand?”

The alcohol in your system is making you stupid. “I didn't cheat,” you tell him stubbornly, even as you hump against his knee. “I wasn't t-touching you!” 

“You're being a brat,” he tells you, and he begins to spank your thighs, hard enough that you start to yell. He's not grinding his knee against you anymore either, and your arousal is left throbbing and desolately unstimulated. “and it's time for you to go to sleep.” 

“W-what?” You sniff, your ass and thighs stinging. “It's not that late.” 

“I don't care,” says Markiplier, and he lets go of you. “Stand up.” 

You do so, tearfully, sniffling. Suddenly the gravity of the situation hits you. Or else you just have an alcohol induced mood swing. Regardless, you start sobbing, big ugly sobs. 

“Shit, shit, did I go to far?” Mark is up on his feet in a flash, pressing your forehead against his and staring deeply into your eyes. “I'm sorry, are you okay, fuck, I'm really sorry.” He rubs your back, rocking the both of you gently. “Please... please... I'm so sorry.”

You blink at him, your vision still streaked with tears. “D-do you still care about me?” You hate the wobble in your voice. and how abrupt the feelings came, out of nowhere. 

Mark closes his eyes, sighing heavily. “Of course I do,” he says, his hand on the back of your head, pressing your forehead's closer together. “I'm sorry for going overboard.”

“Y-you didn't,” you sniffle, pressing your face into his neck. “I'm sorry for... for being bad and marking you up and making you cum in your pants.”

“It's alright. We can sort it all out.” He kisses your forehead. “But you should go to sleep.” 

“Okay,” you say, and you yawn widely. “Although I didn't cheat. I wasn't technically touching you.”

He rolls his eyes, poking you in the side. “Get to bed,” he tells you. “I'll be there in a minute. I need to give my phone a wipe down.”

That's enough to snicker as you walk up towards the bedroom, your pants still around your thighs. You're still horny as hell, but at least you're not in too much trouble, right?” 

“You are in _so much_ trouble,” Mark bellows from the bathroom, and you walk a little faster, still snickering. He's found the hickies. This should be fun. At least, when you're sober again.


End file.
